


Melting With You

by Edie_Rone



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, Sweet and warm, ray bradbury - Freeform, the very moment before it happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edie_Rone/pseuds/Edie_Rone
Summary: From the prompt, "It's just rain,  you aren't gonna melt."





	Melting With You

She’d left her shoes in the car, pulled his jacket over her head like a tarp, and clutched her bag to her chest, and on the count of three, they’d made a run for it — but even the twenty yards from the parking area to the bungalow porch was enough, very likely, to ruin the skirt of her suit.

_Dammit — why do I ever bother to buy dry-clean only?_ She thinks, trying to finger-comb her damp, rain-blown hair back into place and wishing she’d followed the train of thought that had them still in the car, steaming up the windows, making streaky handprints on the glass as they …

He’s next to her, shaking out his soaked hair like the world’s largest puppy. He sees her irritated expression and smiles that smile — the placating one that somehow manages to hint at things he won’t say, for instance that he wouldn’t have minded the staying-in-the-car scenario either.

But still — STILL — he deflects, wiping his face with his own shirttail and impulsively monologuing, something she vaguely recalls reading in eighth grade: “The rain continued. It was a hard rain, a perpetual rain, a sweating and steaming rain; it was a mizzle, a downpour, a fountain, a whipping at the eyes, an undertow at the ankles; it was a rain to drown all rains and the memory of rains…”

“Mulder …” OK, that came out a lot less annoyed than she was going for. Something about his voice, low and lightly teasing, reaching her through the noise of the crashing summer storm — he steps closer, his warmth precedes him — and as if it belongs there, his arm is circling her waist and her heartbeat drops to half speed before picking up with a quickness.

“It came by the pound and the ton, it hacked at the jungle and cut the trees like scissors and shaved the grass and tunneled the soil and molted the bushes. It shrank men’s hands into the hands of wrinkled apes; it rained a solid glassy rain, and it never stopped…”

She waits for more, turned fully toward him now, afraid to look up at him; staring instead at the third button on his shirt, inhaling the scents of rain on asphalt, on old wood, on parched soil, on Mulder. His other arm has gone around her, up higher, one hand resting easily on her shoulder with the thumb stroking lightly — barely there — along her trapezius.

“That’s all I remember,” he confesses, with an abashed laugh that hits the skin under her collar and makes her shiver. _The Long Rain_, she remembers suddenly, but doesn’t say — the almost-visible heat between them puts her in mind of the radiant oases in the story.

She tilts her head back, meets his eyes, knows this was what he was waiting for. Hoping for. She feels so tiny, standing this close to him in her ruined-stocking feet, soaked to the knee; her hands go to his hips for balance, then slide around to meet behind him.

It takes seven thousand years for his lips to finally meet hers — and then, oh, all summer in a day — impossible to say how long they stand there, kisses so soft and deep, light rustling of stroked starched clothing, sighs of answered longing blending with the cacophonic downpour overhead and just beyond the roofline.

He pulls back to rest, just briefly, touching his forehead to hers; repeats what he’d said to get her to chance the dash to the bungalow: “It’s just rain, you aren’t gonna melt.”

_Yes I am_, she thinks, as she sinks fully into the support of his arms, lets him kiss his way down her throat to her opened top button — _I already have. _


End file.
